


first contact

by antikytheras



Series: moonlight tea shop [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tea Shop, Fluff, M/M, Tension, all i wanted was oikawa in a white yukata smoking a pipe i dont know how it came to this, debatably resolved tension, or rather you get to watch them build the tea shop, yamaguchi has a minor speaking role but he'll have more screentime in future episodes i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 22:17:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12022176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antikytheras/pseuds/antikytheras
Summary: 'I just swept the floor!''You've been standing around doing nothing but ogling my arms for the past five minutes while I balance your entire menu on a creaky old ladder,' a rung on said ladder snaps into two while Iwaizumi descends, but Oikawa doesn't even have the decency to look affected, 'and you think I'm gonna sweep your floor?'





	first contact

'Iwa-chan, a bit more to the left.'

Iwaizumi grits his teeth, but he feels his arms flex obediently, muscles jumping in little tremors even as he curses the tea shop proprietor out under his breath. One more adjustment to the goddamn sign and he's ready to rip Oikawa's head off before his mouth can fire off more carelessly worded instructions. 'Yours or mine?'

'Mine, of course.'

With a grunt, Iwaizumi twitches a fraction of an inch to his right. His arms are starting to burn with the effort of holding the weight of a ridiculously expensive and therefore ridiculously heavy wooden sign for the better part of five minutes. The changes in the sign's position have gradually grown smaller and smaller with each time Oikawa complains that he "went too far again, Iwa-chan, now you've gotta move it back to the right" until Iwaizumi is forced to make the tiniest of shifts to satisfy the over-critical proprietor's perfectionism.

Oikawa's standing a few feet away in front of him, shielding the sun from his eyes with a paper fan while he scrutinises the efforts of his oldest friend, who is currently perched atop a tall bamboo ladder. The skeleton of a building looms over them, wooden scaffolding opening up to the endless blue of the skies above. Oikawa had insisted on filling in the ground floor of the shophouse before he would even consider fitting in a ceiling, let alone a roof, and Iwaizumi had argued with him on the sheer stupidity of it all but not only had Oikawa won the argument, he'd even cajoled Iwaizumi into "helping out" with the renovation.

(They both knew full well that there hadn't even been a question to begin with; Iwaizumi would have ended up helping him either way.)

Oikawa lets out a pleased noise after Iwaizumi twitches a couple times. 'Right there, that's good.'

He would fire back a snide remark about Oikawa's terrible character and his terrible exploitation of his "friends" but he swallows the barb in favour of getting this whole sign ordeal over and done with already. A trail of sweat threatens to break his concentration when it drips down the back of his neck as he exhales, keeping every muscle in his body locked in place until the sign is safely cradled in its holder. He dusts off his hands, ignoring Oikawa's offended squawk.

'I just swept the floor!'

'You've been standing around doing nothing but ogling my arms for the past five minutes while I balance your entire menu on a creaky old ladder,' a rung on said ladder snaps into two while Iwaizumi descends, but Oikawa doesn't even have the decency to look affected, 'and you think I'm gonna sweep your floor?'

'It's good wood,' Oikawa protests mildly, unfettered by his Iwa-chan's sour attitude. He's long grown out of any shame when it comes to Iwaizumi, so it's easy for him to slide his heavy, half-lidded gaze over to suffocate him where he stands rooted to the ground. 'And whose fault is it that I'm even here at all?'

There's no accusation, not even a hint of irritation in the words behind the question, but unfortunately for Iwaizumi, he hasn't quite gotten used to the weight of strange-misplaced guilt, so he turns away and replies with, 'I'm gonna take a walk.'

Oikawa hums, a neutral sound devoid of intention or meaning. 'You do that.'

-

He returns with an apology wrapped in pretty, fragile paper, the kind that he knows Oikawa will coo over and squirrel away into a box full of other useless paper packaging remnants.

The floor is spotless (of course) and the ladder leaning against the wall has no broken rungs. Oikawa is seated on a cushion in the far corner, staring at the empty shop space with a frown creasing his brow.

'Don't come in,' the proprietor says seriously, and for a moment Iwaizumi wonders if he's still angry. Then the years of familiarity come crashing in to wash the thought away; Oikawa's pettiness hardly extends to him in matters like these.

So he stands by the entryway, leans against the mahogany that Oikawa had handpicked from a catalogue in the most expensive shop in the entire city and billed to Iwaizumi's account. He watches Oikawa's face while he stares blankly at the shop floor, sees the cogs spinning as the proprietor picks apart a thought in his mind until it's been reduced to nothing and the lines around his eyes relax.

'How does four tables in the front and eight rooms in the back sound to you?'

'It's your shop.' Iwaizumi shrugs, going to him. 'Might be a bit cramped though.'

'The word you're looking for is "cosy,"' Oikawa says drily, but he acquiesces, taking Iwaizumi's hand and pulling himself up. 'Four's an unlucky number anyway. I'll think about it.'

His expression goes blank again when Iwaizumi hands over the wrapped rectangular package. It's small enough to fit into his palm. Never one to delay instant gratification, Oikawa unfolds the tissue-thin paper snug around the box and a satisfied grin unfurls onto his face.

'Aww, Iwa-chan, you remembered my favourite,' he purrs, as if Iwaizumi doesn't already have his likes and dislikes drilled into his mind with the sheer number of petty arguments they've had.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. 'Let's just get some lunch. It's already getting late.'

'It's only three,' Oikawa protests half-heartedly, intent on folding the paper back into a small square and stowing it away in a pocket somewhere.

Iwaizumi grabs him by the back of his _yukata_ and drags him out of the building bodily. 'I'm not doing any lifting under the midday sun.'

'So lazy, Iwa-chan.'

'Says the one watching me do all the work,' Iwaizumi snaps, but there's not much bite behind the bark.

The streets thrum with the winding-down of the lunchtime bustle. Wooden shophouses line both sides of the street, some with seating areas on the balconies. When Iwaizumi had gone on his walk earlier, he'd seen a noodle shop with red paper lanterns out in the front, somewhere near the same place he'd bought Oikawa's favourite _kizami_ , and he finds himself turning down the familiar road.

Oikawa reaches back to tap Iwaizumi's wrist and he lets go immediately. He straightens his outfit and fusses with the collar, then reaches for Iwaizumi's hand again and laces their fingers together. Iwaizumi barely contains a sigh of relief. Oikawa's anger is a force of nature, but he's never been able to deprive himself of Iwaizumi's touch for too long.

Oikawa's gazing at the shops they're strolling by when he asks, 'What do you feel like having? I want milk bread.'

'That's not lunch,' Iwaizumi sighs, but he squeezes Oikawa's hand.

'Which is why I asked what you wanted,' Oikawa says crossly, 'or should I have asked where you're bringing me?'

Iwaizumi takes note of a candied apple cart in front of a dumpling shop. 'I passed by a noodle place on my way back.'

'Sounds good to me.' They walk the rest of the way in comfortable silence, Oikawa swinging their linked arms with a spring in his step.

At the noodle shop, they get a seat at the counter in front of the chef himself, with whom Oikawa immediately strikes up a light, cheery conversation while Iwaizumi contemplates his lunch decisions. If Oikawa has anything to say against Iwaizumi's order of _kitsune-udon_ , it only shows in a single twitch of an eyelid.

Oikawa orders himself a plate of dumplings ("Some of us actually bother watching our weight, Iwa-chan!") and is visibly pleased when he receives an extra bowl of broth for free. He's significantly less pleased when he takes a sip of the tea, and although he has the grace to keep a straight face, Iwaizumi recognises the disgust in Oikawa's eyes and snorts into his bowl.

'We're getting a contract with them,' Oikawa says flatly the moment they're out of the shop.

'Fine by me.' This time, it's Iwaizumi reaching for Oikawa's hand, but he notices the split-second hesitation before Oikawa relaxes and takes it.

So he's still angry. Iwaizumi can't find it in himself to blame him for it.

But there's Oikawa's thumb gently rubbing soothing circles into his own, and Iwaizumi knows that that's his way of assuring him that it's okay, they'll be okay.

'This place is pretty nice,' Oikawa admits grudgingly, the first leaf on an olive branch.

Iwaizumi smiles slightly. 'I told you you'd like it. It suits you.'

'I'm not associating myself with this town until they do something about their tea,' he hisses, wrinkling his nose in disdain. Iwaizumi laughs, a little nervously. At least he's not threatening to burn down the city anymore.

He spots the candied apple cart from earlier and pulls Oikawa toward it. Oikawa is suspiciously compliant, and Iwaizumi suspects that he knows exactly what he has planned.

So he doesn't even bother for subtlety when he turns to Oikawa and asks, 'Which one do you want?'

There's a pleased twinkle in Oikawa's eyes when he leans forward and coos, 'What's this, Iwa-chan, making up for something?'

It's a trap, but Iwaizumi sighs and dives headfirst into it. 'Like what?'

Oikawa blinks, the only sign of surprise he gives. His lighthearted smile never leaves his lips when he twists the proverbial knife lodged in Iwaizumi's heart. 'Oh, I don't know, maybe your apparent inability to understand when no means no.'

Iwaizumi silently reaches for his wallet and pays for Oikawa's candied apple without further complaint.

They continue their leisurely (albeit frosty) stroll back to the half-formed tea shop. Iwaizumi waits for Oikawa to take a big bite of the apple before murmuring, 'I'm sorry.'

Oikawa tilts his head, a calculated, piercing question in his eyes while he waits for Iwaizumi to continue.

His throat feels dry under that gaze, so he swallows and says, 'I just— I didn't— I just thought this would be a good distraction—' The words are spilling from his mouth in a clumsy heap until Oikawa presses the candied apple to his lips to quiet him. It's sweet.

Though his gaze remains dark and clouded, Oikawa offers a quiet, genuine smile, an apology of his own. 'It's fine. I'll make the most of it.'

 __-

In the end, Oikawa settles for six tables in the front and eight rooms in the back.

'There's no way that's gonna fit,' Iwaizumi says flatly, setting his hammer aside.

There's a worrying glint in Oikawa's eyes when he declares in a sing-song voice, 'I'll make it fit.'

'It's not about making it fit, it's more about, oh, I don't know, maybe _the constraints of the physical realm_ —'

Oikawa's having none of it. 'I'll make it fit,' he says again, more firmly, and balls up another piece of paper. Iwaizumi's eyes are drawn to how it crinkles in his hands, the cream parchment almost the same shade as his skin. Had he always been this pale? Iwaizumi hadn't been paying much attention recently. It's been days and days of renovation and woodwork and more things he's not entirely sure he's qualified to do, but they make it work. Besides, under Oikawa's vulture-like gaze nothing less than perfection is allowed to spring forth from Iwaizumi's hands.

Oikawa's looking at him with his pencil held loosely in one hand and one eyebrow raised pointedly. He's been caught staring.

'You're not eating enough,' Iwaizumi says instead, because it's always a true statement so it's easier than coming up with a lie.

Oikawa shrugs, starting on yet another draft of the floor plans.

'Why don't you come help me with the tables? The ones you picked. And made me pay for.'

'Do you really think these hands look this good because I do manual labour?' Oikawa asks wryly, but he sets the pencil on top of the sheaf of loose parchment and goes over to Iwaizumi.

The tables are low, meant for guests who are sitting on the floor. He's already made all of the square ones, which Oikawa fully intends to cram into the front part of the shop, and he's having trouble figuring out where exactly he should nail in the legs for the larger round tables. It would look mildly absurd if he lined them along the perimeter, but there would be too little support if he used just one in the centre and the table would tip over if he put so much as a teacup on the edge.

When he tells Oikawa just that, the proprietor has the nerve to laugh in his face. Oikawa's laugh isn't playful or light or graceful like most people expect and are used to hearing; it's ugly and uncontrolled, short barks of mirth while he wipes actual tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. Iwaizumi punches him in the stomach (lightly) and Oikawa falls to his knees, gasping for air.

'You threw away the instructions, didn't you.' He's breathless, moreso from his laughing fit than the punch.

Iwaizumi throws his hands up in defeat. 'It's just a table! Who needs instructions for a table?'

'Iwa-chan, I know your brain's just about pea-sized but to think you'd be defeated by a round table—' And just like that he's guffawing on his knees again, arms wrapped around his middle. 'Ow, my stomach, that hurts—'

'It's not like I've ever had to build my own furniture before,' Iwaizumi grumbles, ignoring the burning at the tips of his ears, 'and get off the floor, you're gonna get your _yukata_ dirty.'

'This floor's cleaner than Ushiwaka-chan's mind.' There's a deep, bitter twist in Oikawa's tone at the mention of Ushijima, and the humour drains from his now-grim expression. Iwaizumi averts his eyes, but it's more for show than anything.

Oikawa stops rolling around and grabs the table legs and the metal rods that had confounded Iwaizumi for the better part of fifteen minutes. His voice is deceptively light when he explains, 'You see how you can split the table into four quadrants? Line the legs along the four imaginary lines, about this,' his fingers trace out a line about eight inches long, 'far from the centre and then you connect each leg,' he aligns one black metal rod between two legs diagonally, 'to another leg with the rods for reinforcement.' He holds another metal rod between the legs so that both rods form a wide cross.

'When did you become an expert on tables,' Iwaizumi snorts, reaching for a handful of nails and hammering the rods into place while Oikawa holds the metal against the wood for him.

'Not all of us were raised in the lap of luxury, Iwa-chan.' Oikawa's doing that annoying sing-song voice again while he reaches for another pair of rods. 'Some of us had to build our own furniture, you know.'

'Oh yeah? I bet the first time you built a table you put the legs all around the edge, didn't you.' Usually Iwaizumi smashes the hammer into the wood at full force, but he doesn't think Oikawa would be very pleased if he broke his fingers. He'd whine on and on about how "you're such a brute, Iwa-chan" and "I'm disfigured now, look what you've done, how could I go out into the world like this with these ugly hands (ugly like yours, Iwa-chan, the horror of it all!) and now you have to take care of me my entire life" as if Iwaizumi hadn't already been doing precisely that since they were five.

Oikawa goes suspiciously silent for a long moment, and Iwaizumi knows he's hit the nail on the head. Now it's his turn to roll around the floor, snickering gracelessly.

'At least I didn't consciously decide to throw away the instructions,' Oikawa snaps, snatching up the hammer and hammering with a vengeance. Iwaizumi just knows that he's imagining Iwaizumi's face on the head of the nail, which makes him a startlingly efficient worker. Soon enough, he's done fixing up one of the tables, and he gets to his feet and prods Iwaizumi in the side with his toes.

'You're on your own now, Iwa-chan,' is all the warning he gets before Oikawa drops the hammer onto his stomach and retreats to his corner with a huff.

From where he's lying on the ground, Iwaizumi watches him go.

-

They get their first contract before they even install the ceiling, let alone a roof.

Iwaizumi's practically swimming in his own sweat, his clothes clinging to his skin more tightly than Oikawa clings to him on the bad nights. Somehow, Oikawa had convinced him that they absolutely needed some pillars for structural support or aesthetics or something— knowing him, it'd be some hellish mixture of both— and Iwaizumi had given in shamefully quickly because the sooner he got this over and done with, the sooner they could put in a ceiling and then a roof and then the sun would be out of his face forever.

'Oh no you don't,' Oikawa hisses, as if he'd read his mind when he'd glanced at the floor contemplatively. 'You can lie down in the dirt outside. Don't you dare get your sweat all my flooring.'

'You mean the one I put in?' Iwaizumi snaps back, but he allows himself to be steered out of the building and flops onto the ground with a loud groan. At least he's being shaded from the sunlight.

He stares up into the blue of the sky and thinks about how it matches Oikawa's _yukata_ today. There isn't a single cloud in the sky, which had made it damnably hot inside the half-built shophouse but now that he's under the shade, he takes a moment to appreciate the unbroken mist of blue keeping watch over the entire expanse of the earth.

It's reminds him of how he and Oikawa used to sneak out in the middle of the night, Oikawa pulling him with a tug of his hand and Iwaizumi following with a carefree laugh breaking free from his lips and adoration shining through his eyes as Oikawa led him up a small hill and he followed with the same flame-hot loyalty that would doom him to the ends of the earth. How Oikawa used to drag him around, fussing over the most comfortable spot of grass and flinging himself down and up again like an excited ball of energy bouncing until he'd found the place that was just right for stargazing and then tugging Iwaizumi down to the impossibly-soft ground with him. How they used to lie together, tracing constellations into the other's skin as they watched the shower of stars, how Iwaizumi used to memorise the falling comets make fireflies of themselves in Oikawa's wide, awed eyes until he recognised a reflection of the galaxies more quickly than he'd recognise the real thing, how Oikawa would hold his hand tight like a lifeline while he dreamt of aliens and UFOs and other desperately-possible impossibilities.

(Used to. Used to. _Used_ to.)

In that precious fragment of time, under the invisible cage of the ozone-blue sky, Iwaizumi _understands_.

'Err, 'scuse me, pardon the intrusion—'

The unfamiliar voice strikes him out of his reverie well before a shadow falls over him. Iwaizumi rolls over and finds himself staring at the chef from the noodle shop with the red lanterns.

'Oh, err, how can I help you?' Iwaizumi fumbles to his feet, trying his best to dust himself off so he looks mildly presentable. Oikawa's always been better with people than he's ever hoped to be.

The chef looks sheepish, scratching the back of his head while he extends a large paper bag with his other hand. 'I, well— The two of you are new around these parts, right?'

He's not quite following. 'Uh, yeah, I guess?'

'Well, I see the both of you come around my part of town for lunch most days, and I can't help but notice that you guys didn't show your faces today, so I thought that I'd, you know, deliver some food, what with all the work you've gotta do with the renovation and all—'

'Ah, Yamaguchi-san!' There's Oikawa, swooping in to save the day.

'Ah, Oikawa-san.' The chef visibly relaxes, waving to the proprietor. 'I brought some food, if that's okay with you. This one's on the house.'

Iwaizumi is content to fade into the background while Oikawa works his magic on the poor chef, who's already looking somewhat awed and fond of him at the same time. It's like somewhere inside, a switch was flipped; Iwaizumi would never think of Oikawa as elegant or mysterious or (heavens forbid) pleasant, but that's because that's the part of himself Oikawa uses for people-that-are-not-Iwa-chan. It's almost as if he reserves all his inner annoying brat just for his oldest friend.

There's a slight smile on Oikawa's lips that crinkles the corners of his eyes when he says, 'Thank you, Yamaguchi-san.'

Chef Yamaguchi beams back in return. 'It's really no trouble, I was on my way to this part of town for some errands anyway so I thought, ah, heck it, might as well welcome the new blood, right?'

'That's very kind of you. We're still adjusting.' Oikawa accepts the brown paper bag carefully with both hands, then passes it over to Iwaizumi like he's an inconsequential assistant.

His eyes flick over to study Oikawa's face for a hint, but there isn't even a hint of a chip in his mask. So Iwaizumi accepts the role quietly, trusting the proprietor to explain himself later.

Throughout their split-second silent exchange, Yamaguchi doesn't shift his gaze from Oikawa. In fact, he looks almost worried. 'You sure you'll hold up okay 'round here? Folks can be a real handful, especially since we're in the service industry. And not all of the bosses are as warm-hearted as mine.'

'We'll learn,' Oikawa assures him. 'I'd invite you in for some tea, but, well—'

'Oh, no, I should get going.' But he shows no sign of wanting to leave. In fact, he's looking at the shop curiously. 'You sell tea?'

'I like it,' Oikawa says simply, and that's enough to get Yamaguchi nodding to himself.

'We'd be happy to serve your stuff— at the right price, of course,' he amends hastily, wincing to himself. Iwaizumi fights the urge to laugh. No matter how many times he's seen it firsthand, it's always entertaining to watch Oikawa wrap someone around his fingers.

'We can discuss the details at a later date,’ Oikawa assures him, reaching into his yukata for a brush and a slip of parchment. He writes a date and a time, then signs off with a controlled flourish. He folds the paper in half, then half again, and presents it to Yamaguchi with both hands and his head bowed.

Yamaguchi looks impressed, although Iwaizumi's not sure if it's the impeccable service or the penmanship that gets him. 'So we get to be your first customers, huh?'

Oikawa smiles. 'Something like that.'

'Nice.' Almost on cue, a bell tolls in the distance, and Yamaguchi flinches. 'Ah, crap, I'm running late. I'll see you around, Oikawa-san!'

Oikawa waves as Yamaguchi quickly jogs down the street. Without a change in his expression, Oikawa murmurs, quiet enough that Iwaizumi almost has to strain to hear, 'He's part of the local mafia. Well, one of many clans.'

He eyes the retreating figure, taking note of a hint of inked skin peeking out from the back of his shirt. 'That guy? Seems pretty pleasant to me.'

'This entire town is crawling with rich brats and underground hitmen.' Oikawa sounds bored, which surprises Iwaizumi. Between the both of them, it's always been Iwaizumi who prefers not to involve himself with political intrigue. 'He has a soft spot for the weak. I don't think he'll be giving us any trouble.'

'I don't think anyone _could_ give you trouble,' Iwaizumi remarks wryly, shoving the brown bag into Oikawa's chest. 'What was with that attitude, by the way?'

Oikawa's gaze hardens to cold steel. 'The less attention you draw, the better. You don't like playing the sort of games I like, and I don't particularly feel like cleaning up your messes. Yamaguchi's already made a move on behalf of his clan, and I'm sure the others will soon be responding to the " _new blood_ " as well.'

Iwaizumi recognises a faint hint of possessiveness and jealousy hiding behind the matter-of-fact statements, but he shrugs, more interested in the fact that all the sweat has long dried from his skin. 'I'm sure you'll be just fine.'

'I'm not worried about myself,' Oikawa admits carelessly, turning around and making his way back into the shop. His footsteps echo in the half-formed ribcage of the building. 'I'm more concerned about you. Not a single person in this town is quite what they seem.'

Iwaizumi laughs and follows easily. 'Guess that just means you'll fit right in.'

-

It's a cool, quiet night when Iwaizumi goes to find Oikawa.

Contrary to popular belief, it's not always Oikawa chasing after Iwaizumi; Iwaizumi searches for him about as much as Oikawa does for him, but the main difference is that Iwaizumi is quiet about it, whereas Oikawa prefers to loudly stake his claim on his oldest friend. Many have wondered about the strange, ever-shifting dynamics between the two of them, though few dare to speak their thoughts aloud once confronted with Oikawa's starlight-bright gaze.

Iwaizumi finds him in the back, shrouded in a mist of grey smoke as impenetrable as his contemplative face, his gaze focused on something in the middle distance while he stares at the little garden sprouting in the backyard. He's smoking the _kizami_ that Iwaizumi had brought back as an apology, and the sweet citrus notes hang in the air like corpses tied to the branches of a tree. The smoke will surely cling to his white _yukata_ , to his soft brown hair, to the pile of cushions he kneels on when he likes to take a moment to himself to think, but it's a pleasant scent that Iwaizumi has grown to acknowledge as a part of Oikawa.

Iwaizumi clears his throat, and Oikawa tilts his head back, half-lidded gaze crawling over to meet Iwaizumi's eyes. The moonlight dips into the tendons shifting in his pale neck, dripping across the sharp curve of his collarbones and down to the dip leading to his sternum. There's an unspoken question in his dark eyes.

'Come with me,' Iwaizumi says, and Oikawa blinks. He turns back to the garden, then takes the _kiseru_ out from between his lips and exhales a final wisp of smoke. Iwaizumi watches him extinguish the _kizami_ and set his pipe aside, watches the ripple-smooth motion of the fabric on his robe when he rises to his feet and goes to Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi takes his hand and leads him past the shop floor, thrown into dark shadows now that they've finally put in a ceiling, and out into the quiet murmur of the streets at midnight. It's still pulsing with life, but it's the slow, calm heartbeat of the underground nightlife finding their beds instead of the mad adrenaline rush of the busiest street in town. Iwaizumi's been watching carefully for the loneliest, most serene hour of the night, the kind he knows Oikawa will lose himself in if he's not careful, and he squeezes his hand in an unspoken reassurance.

Oikawa squeezes back, the faintest hint of a genuine smile creeping onto his lips.

They walk barefoot through the streets. Red shadows dance over them, the flames in the paper lanterns slowly dying down to cold darkness, but fighting to stay alive long enough to light the way for the last wayward, weary traveler. Iwaizumi doesn't speak, because this is the hour where Oikawa likes to look around and take it all in, thinking and overthinking until the first crow of dawn comes to reclaim his sanity. The red of the lanterns warm his eyes even more when Oikawa smiles at Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi doesn't look away even after being caught staring. Oikawa knows that his Iwa-chan likes to watch him, relishes in the attention and worship that he still doesn't believe he deserves even after it's been kissed into his skin a hundred times over, and Iwaizumi will give all of himself and more until Oikawa sees what he does.

'Where are we going?' Oikawa asks, keeping his voice low to preserve the silence of the night.

'You'll see,' Iwaizumi promises, and the chill breeze takes their words and jumbles them together, carrying it away like a snatch of soft nothings between lovers.

'C'mon, tell me,' Oikawa whines softly, and Iwaizumi laughs, pulling him close when he complains, 'It's cold. You didn't tell me we'd be spending this much time out in the cold, I'm not dressed for the weather.'

'If you took better care of yourself you'd have better circulation,' Iwaizumi retorts, but he succumbs and promises, 'we're almost there. Just a little bit more.'

'Okay.' Oikawa fiddles with the lining of his white yukata, pressing closer to Iwaizumi to steal his body warmth. 'You're lucky you're like a furnace, or else we'd both freeze to death.'

'Always so overdramatic,' Iwaizumi mumbles, but he fits himself into Oikawa's arms and lets the taller, colder one wrap an arm around his waist.

The small hill comes into view just then, and Oikawa gives a little shout of surprise, all of the pieces finally falling into place in his mind.

'You remembered,' Oikawa whispers, breathless.

The confession comes easy, now. 'I'm sorry.' I'm sorry we grew apart, I'm sorry I've been busy, I'm sorry you had to come up with this whole dumb renovation excuse to get me to spend time with you just like how we used to, I'm sorry I didn't realise you were afraid of losing me, I'm sorry you had to go through what you did, I'm sorry I wasn't there when it happened, I'm sorry I made you come here even though I knew you'd hate it but I thought it would be good for you but I didn't think about you and I'm so, so sorry; Iwaizumi wraps all of the unsightly, unspoken apologies into a single, simple statement, just like how he'd wrapped the _kizami_ so that it felt like something that actually deserved to be in Oikawa's presence.

Oikawa smiles, but there are stars falling from his eyes when he laughs and tugs at Iwaizumi's hand, and then they're running in a breathless competition to get up to the top, a perfect pair synchronised both mentally and physically, each pulling the other up closer and closer to the peak, just like they used to.

(Just like they got used to each other.)

When they trip over each other and fall into a pile at the peak, they're laughing like the children they once were, a tangle of limbs that never wanted to be apart. Oikawa draws back only to press in closer, stretching out in a more comfortable position so that he can look at the stars while draped over Iwaizumi's body.

'So romantic, Iwa-chan,' Oikawa teases, curling closer until his head is nestled on Iwaizumi's chest.

'You know we can't actually do this all the time, right,' Iwaizumi mumbles, and Oikawa huffs, affronted.

'Of course not. I'm not that demanding.'

'Could've fooled me.' He reaches for Oikawa's hand, catching his fingers and placing their joined fists over his steady-beating heart. It belongs to Oikawa, it always has. 'Have you thought about what you want to name the shop?' Oikawa's hair smells of smoke, and it's soft when Iwaizumi runs his fingers through it.

'Hmm,' Oikawa looks up at the skies, then back down at the unwavering anchor he holds in his hands.

'I think I'll call it the Moonlight Tea Shop.'

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i know it looks like i wrote a 2 page ikea ad but i'm not being sponsored, i swear. also don't smoke kids
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/_antikytheras)


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